24
by Genis Aurion
Summary: Sub 008 for the awsm KK archive . Slash, of course.


_Sub 008 for the awsm KK archive  
And I'm having a lengthened period of a lack of motivation at the moment. You may not see as frequent updates with my other stories._

**24  
_Zakuyoe_**

You smile politely right on through.

But it's not like he'd notice anyway. You know his habits, how he flirts with almost anyone, all to the point where mixed feelings are sent out.

You know that twenty-three people—and soon to be twenty-four—have confessed to him feelings only to have them rejected. That's how he is; he treats every person in the same flirty manner, so blatantly hinting at emotions he probably doesn't feel.

He's turned down so many girls for that reason, and you can't help but to wonder why he's turned them down to begin with. Even Bebe, you thought, had some sort of a chance, judging the way he was always leaning toward her with his clumsy smile, how he'd always take a glance at her… somewhere below her neck.

And yet, that day at the park when you and him were to complete an art project, she had shown up to admit her feelings for him, only to hear the oh-so-casual response that shot her down harder than you would've ever thought possible for a girl like her.

You're used to the fact that he's going to consistently turn everyone down. At times, at night, in the midst of his room, where no one can hear him, in the silence of the dark, you wonder if he does it on purpose. You don't know yourself, even after knowing him for this long, if he enjoys watching others in pain, if he likes rejecting people as if in a desire to show others the mild pain he himself feels whenever he undergoes one of his many deaths.

In a way you sympathize for those he's left behind. No, not empathize, as you've never actually gone through it yourself, but you do understand what each girl's faced in the dusts Kenny's left behind. In your heart you can almost feel it, the anticipation of what might come, how being the twenty-fourth person may cause you to empathize more than you might ever want to.

Maybe if he didn't flirt with you as well you might not be feeling this way. What mistake it had been back then to tell him your indifference toward women, how seemingly unimportant it had been to your friendship. Also in an undying desire, you felt the need to tell someone. Perhaps it was only an infantile urge of yours, but for the next month your mind was set on telling someone in an effort to get it off your chest.

You would never tell Stan, of course, as by that point he was slowly bending toward that jock-image you knew would inevitably happen. Sometimes you laughed at the irony of it, how inside he was even more so a pussy-emo kid than a star football player; but for the sake of your old friendship you kept that to yourself.

Granted that you didn't want to tell Cartman, you ended up telling _him_.

You couldn't really say the result was something you were looking for. You remember clearly how he had merely shrugged his shoulders, smiling at you in the slightest way, raising his hands in a goofy manner. "I don't see the problem," he told you, and that was the end of it.

Or so it seemed, but as time passed you knew better. To say that this was where your feelings began would be quite safe to assume; within due time you found him becoming slightly closer to you, both physically and emotionally. While in your mind you were slowly seeing him as a closer friend, you also found him being physically closer than you would've ever imagined.

Saying that he was pressing himself against you often wouldn't suffice.

You stare politely right on through, but in your mind you do wonder if he means everything he says, if he has reasoning for everything he does to you. The way he whispers in your ear, without a doubt breathing hot air intentionally—does he actually mean it? The way he comments people with large feet, the way he bites his lip, the way he brushes on you—sometimes the only thing you wish for is that what you're experiencing is real.

You know better, though. What you're experiencing is only the result of being the twenty-fourth victim.

But Kenny doesn't act this way around any of his other male friends. Granted, as a kid, he used to; but entering high school his advances toward his male friends had come to a halt. Admittedly it does feel nice, you being the only guy he flirts with; but even as he does so you have to struggle to keep in mind the twenty-three before you that might've felt similarly. You've grown to the point where you really want this to work, but you know it won't happen.

But perhaps what hurts the most is that he only flirts with you because he knows you'll accept it. And of all the drawbacks of telling him your orientation, this particular one stings the most. You don't need him to tell you the truth personally; you've figured it out. He only flirts with you because you have homosexual tendencies, because you like men, because he's categorized you with the other girls that could potentially pine over him.

You think you should probably get over these feelings, as if the only way to avoid the McKormick Trap is to swallow your feelings down entirely. But it's much harder than that as you know, and in the silence of your room you begin to wonder why you told him. In the silence of the night you ask yourself if concealing the second half of your secret is really worth the sleepless nights, the tosses upon a rough bed, and the midday visuals of a perfect future.

You don't exactly tell him, but in time he figures out, when you accidentally kiss him with his leaning too close.

In the midst of things you lose your self control, at first apologizing to no end. But it appears he doesn't care, but in what way you can't make out. You don't know if he takes that as a response to a flirt, or maybe as a well-meant action, or even something completely done by accident. Nevertheless you step back, words fumbling, hands shaking, teeth near-chattering, eyes wary, feet tapping, and heart thumping loudly to each beat.

He gives you a grin you can't help but to close your eyes to, an effect you didn't quite expect. You don't know why it hurts you so just to see him smile, even in that manner.  
But it does. And reasoning behind why doesn't fly past you so easily.

And then, he shakes his head.

It's only a horizontal movement his head makes yet it means much more than that in your mind. You've suddenly felt, at that moment, exactly what it feels like to fall into his trap, to succumb to the spidery web that's consumed twenty-three others in the past. You've been successfully led with his flirty actions, his soft yet well-chosen words, all leading you to this plunge.

You don't even care anymore if he actually enjoyed the experience. For now, the only thing that passes your mind is the agony of being the twenty-fourth, how painful it actually feels, and the displeasure of empathy.


End file.
